


The Colours of Stardust

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dehumanization, Enemies to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied/Referenced Torture, Non-Explicit Sex, Other, Outer Space, POV Second Person, Spaceships, Touch-Starved, Wing Kink, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:26:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29100246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: After a Federated Forces frigate is torn apart in a hyperstream outside Empire space, Commander Rho-Almaaz-Auriga of Interon, Qerus finds themselves stranded in hostile territory with the prisoner they have been tasked with escorting.
Relationships: Feared Military Commander/Captive Rebel They Escape With, Original Female Character(s)/Original Non-Binary Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4
Collections: Five Figure Fanwork Exchange 2020





	The Colours of Stardust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shadaras](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadaras/gifts).



The ship shudders in a way that gives you pause. You wait at the door to the brig, but _Asperity_ 's captain does not call for evacuation. Turbulence in this part of the hyperstream is rare, but not unheard of. You continue into the brig, unchallenged by the guards you had ordered be placed there. The single prisoner in the cells is yours, after all, and while you aren't strictly in the command structure of the ship, your station places you above that of their captain's.

The prisoner, one Ires Yilena, confirmed member of the most prominent insurgency in the Corsolan Empire, is sitting at the back of her cell on the floor next to the bed. She doesn't look up when you stop in front of the cell doors and spread your wings wide enough to block off the entire opening into the cell. The prisoner’s own wings are kept pinned against her back as in accordance with protocol.

From the information that had been given to you in your mission briefing, the prisoner, while not being particularly high-ranking in the organisation, is privy to a wealth of information from different systems by virtue of masquerading as a surveyor. That is why you had gone to the trouble of evacuating her from Grilia when all the other insurgents had been left to burn with the village that had sheltered them.

"Is there anything you would like to have entered into the record today?" you ask.

The prisoner lifts her head and glares, like she has for the past two days when you've come to her cell to ask.

"The courts will be more lenient in sentencing if you willingly divulge information on the insurgents before we extract it from your mind," you inform her again. The device used by the Corsolan Federated Forces interrogators has come a long way since its first inception, but the information it extracts is always more actionable when accompanied by a testimony from the prisoner. Or when the same information has been extracted from multiple prisoners, but the escape craft you'd left Grilia in had no room for more.

"Go to hell," the prisoner hisses, a departure from her stony silence the past two days.

A chance to exercise her rights once more offered and refused, you no longer have an obligation to remain. It is still more than a week until the ship will reach the Empire’s central system of Qerus though; she may yet tire of her sparse accommodations and bland food and seek to strike a bargain.

Before you can take a step away from the cell, the ship shudders again. You don't quite remember this part of the hyperstream being so turbulent, but the traffic in this sector has been increasing in the last few months. You will note down the observation the moment you return to your quarters. Should others encounter the same turbulence, the Interstellar Transit Commission might see fit to increase the hyperstream bandwidth in the sector.

You take a step, and a tearing sound that can likely be heard throughout the entire ship echoes through the empty corridors of the brig. You've heard that sound before, and there's only one thing it can be: cascading structural failure.

You make for the door to the brig to demand the guards there get in touch with their captain to provide the ship with a status update, but you don't even make it past the boundary of the prisoner's cell when a crack forms in the wall next to you, quickly expanding from floor to ceiling and creeping across the floor.

"You're not going to make it." The prisoner surges to the front of her cell and wraps her hands around the bars as you instinctively release your rifle from the clip holding it out of the way. "Looks like it's just you and me."

She may be right; if the ship is irrevocably coming to pieces, the only course of action to take is evacuation, and you might as well do it with the prisoner. The Directorate may consider her capture sufficient trade for the loss of a Blade-class frigate if the information she holds in her head is as valuable as they think. You open the door.

You pull your wings in and keep your rifle trained on the prisoner as you direct her to the escape pod to the rear of the brig. You can hear more of the ship breaking up in the hyperstream as you pass an ever-growing number of cracks in the corridors. At one point, you can hear the hiss of air escaping through one of these cracks. _Asperity_ will not last long now.

You manage to get the prisoner and yourself into an escape pod just before the release mechanism prematurely fires. Damaged by the turbulence, most likely. There is barely enough time for you and the prisoner to strap yourselves into the restraints before the escape pod is rapidly shot down the hyperstream, the sudden acceleration pinning you to your seats.

Qerusian escape pods are designed to search for the nearest emergency landing zone registered with the Interstellar Rescue and Retrieval Cooperative and will eject the pod from the hyperstream when such a zone is detected. But given that _Asperity_ had not been travelling through Empire space before she had encountered trouble, it could be hours before such a zone is detected. You look over at the prisoner, who stares unabashedly back at you with a smirk on her lips. You will not let her get away.

The prisoner attempts to engage you in conversation several times, but finally desists when you make it clear you have no interest in hearing about anything other than information about the insurgents. The hours pass in silence, and the pod eventually starts to accelerate again to prepare for exit from the hyperstream.

There are no windows in the pod so you can't see how far away the planet is, but it's not long before you hear the parachute deploying from the top of the pod. Despite that, you are still going fast enough that the force of hitting the ground rattles you about in the restraints hard enough to likely leave deep bruises. But the pod eventually comes to a stop with both its occupants still alive, and the diagnostics report that the atmosphere outside is safe to breathe.

The prisoner scrambles to be out the door first; you let her go since she won't get far barefoot and the trackers in her cuffs will tell you where she is.

When you hoist yourself out the top of the hatch, you are greeted with a sight of lush fields on one side and dense forest on the other. In the distance, you can see a few buildings clustered together; it won't be long before someone comes to investigate, then.

"Where are we?" The prisoner holds a hand up to her eyes against the sun and squints towards the town.

"Catala," you say after checking the pod's rudimentary navigational systems. Not good; Catala is not a vassal of the Corsolan Empire and is in fact quite hostile to anyone from there, especially a commander of the Federated Forces.

The prisoner knows this too. "Your kind hold no sway here, _Commander_." Your title is spoken with smugness and derision as the prisoner holds out her wrists. "Uncuff me, or you'll never leave the planet."

You have no choice but to unlock the cuffs and leave them in the escape pod along with your rifle, sealing it off so the Catalans will not be able to open it without cutting through. There is nothing to be done now about the prisoner's dress and lack of footwear, but at least the feature that most easily identifies the two of you as Qerusian, your wings, are safely hidden away.

The Catalan Cooperative Response Team arrives in a small hovercar of uniquely Catalan make, long and flat and open to the elements, which allows the response team to easily jump out when the car comes to a stop by the crash site.

"The two of you are unhurt?" the leader of the response team asks.

"Yes," you answer before the prisoner can speak. If the Catalans are permitted to examine either of you, they will discover your wings, and the situation will become even more complicated than it already is.

"How many were on board your ship?"

"Just the two of us," the prisoner says in a faint, wavering voice, so unlike the tone she had used with you earlier. "We were on a supply run for our nexus ship when we hit turbulence in the Layetian Stream and our ship began to come apart. I was asleep, and my partner was only barely able to get me to the escape pod before our ship was destroyed entirely." She clings to your side and regards the response team with wide, watery eyes in a startlingly convincing show of being lost and helpless.

None of your training had ever prepared you for encountering a situation like this. While you try to weigh up the consequences of contradicting the prisoner's story, the Catalans are making notes in their datapad and ushering you and the prisoner onto the hovercar. Before long, they are unloading you into a room at the headquarters of the Cooperative Response Team and promising to return once contact has been made with your nexus ship.

"Why did you lie to them?" You ask the prisoner once you are sure the Catalans have gone, though you keep your voice low.

The prisoner scoffs. "They clearly don't teach you enough in commander school. Catalans hate _all_ Qerusians, not just the Federated Forces. They think we bring death and disorder to their sector. Which is true, to an extent."

"Had you told them you were my prisoner, they might have granted you leniency."

"Mm, maybe. But I'd rather take my chances with you."

"What do you mean?"

"They'll go down hard on you if they discover what you are, which means you want to get off this planet even more than I do. I could stick around and play the victim and they'll eventually let me go, but I’d rather not stay on a hostile planet for longer than I have to. Help me steal a ship off this planet, and I won't tell them the truth about our relationship."

"I cannot let you go."

"Enjoy your stay on Catala, then." The prisoner heads towards the door.

"Wait," you say. If you are detained on the planet, you will never be able to bring the prisoner before the Directorate. If you agree to leave with her, you can still find a way to detain her once you are away from Catala. "How do you propose we go about stealing a ship?"

As it turns out, the prisoner has no more of an idea than you do, but what she has is an utter lack of care for anything resembling a plan. It is a wonder the insurgents have managed to gain as much ground on some planets as they have.

The windows in your room have been locked, likely to prevent refugees from running amok on the planet and doing as they please—which is what you and the prisoner will shortly be doing—but the mechanism is a simple latch that you easily pry open with your bare hands.

"Wow," the prisoner says, looking openly impressed. "Some of those stories about you commanders are true after all, then?"

The Federated Forces spreads many stories about its commanders to instil a healthy amount of fear and respect in the populace. Most of them are exaggerated, as stories often are, but you _are_ stronger than you look, often to surprising effect, even to those who have heard the stories.

You say none of that, instead motioning for the prisoner to leave first.

You encounter no resistance as you cross the small garden and climb the fence. You have to avoid several people on the other side of the fence due to your clothing easily marking the two of you as off-worlders, but there aren't any guards, and no one is looking for you yet.

"Let's take that." The prisoner points at a two-wheeled speedster parked by the side of a building.

"Someone will notice," you say. You can use the disruptor concealed in the chrono-communicator on your wrist to override the speedster's security system, but the two of you on a stolen speedster will attract more attention than going on foot.

"Someone will notice we're missing soon, and they'll send out search parties. Wouldn't you rather we're far away from here when that happens, and not on foot? Besides, this town doesn't have a spaceport, so we'll have to find a bigger one. Again, easier on the speedster and not on foot. Now, will you unlock it? _Please_?"

You wait until no one is in the vicinity, then you press the disruptor against the speedster's control module until the dashboard begins to light up.

"Beautiful." There's a hungry glint in the prisoner's eyes as she runs her hands across the body of the speedster.

"Didn't you want to be as far away from here as possible when the search began?" you ask.

"One second isn't going to make a difference," the prisoner grouses as she throws one leg over the speedster.

You consider commanding her to hand over control of the speedster to you, but quickly decide you would rather not have her at your back. You hold on to the body of the speedster with your legs and grip the seat with your hands rather than placing your arms around the prisoner’s waist as is the customary position for the passenger to take. You hear her make a sound like a scoff, but she doesn’t say anything.

The prisoner drives the speedster with easy confidence through the packed-dirt streets of the town, quickly ramping up the speed so that the buildings are passing you by in a blur. Your enhanced eyesight allows you to keep track of the curves and bumps in the road, but you have no idea how the prisoner can see where she is going.

The buildings quickly give way to farmland, and after some time, the tip of a growing spire begins to come into view on the horizon. A spaceport. Security is bound to be tight in the city, especially around the spaceport, but if you can get to any vehicle capable of entering a hyperstream, you can get out of this sector and to one more friendly to Qerusians, where the prisoner will not be in any position to strike a bargain.

"I think we should stop here." The prisoner brings the speedster to a stop in a deserted alley. "The spaceport's just up ahead on the main street, and we should get some new clothes to blend in with the locals before we try to get in."

"With what currency?" you ask. The Catalans have refused to adopt the credit system that Qerusians use across multiple sectors, and you will first have to find someone willing to make an exchange, which will immediately attract the attention of the authorities if word of your escape has reached the city already.

"I know you're supposed to uphold the law or whatever, even when the law is clearly _wrong_ , but these are extraordinary circumstances that require extraordinary measures. We'll simply steal what we need."

The prisoner's callous disregard for laws that ensure order is kept amongst a populace is only one of many reasons the insurgence must be quelled. But logic dictates that in this case she is correct, and if you want to leave Catala, this is the only course of action available to you.

"We will cause as little disturbance as possible," you say.

The prisoner scoffs. "Yes, because what I want to be doing right now is causing a scene and drawing attention to myself."

From what you know of the insurgents, it does not seem like such behaviour is too far off-base for them.

The two of you steal through the alleyways behind a row of stores, using your disruptor to override the electronic locks on the doors—and your hands, on occasion, when the door is secured with only a simple padlock—until you find a storeroom with crates full of clothing waiting to be shipped out.

You don't undress, but instead pull a long coat over your armour to hide its obviously Qerusian design; it's good armour—only the best for the Federated Forces' commanders—and you don't want to leave it behind, nor do you have any means of covertly transporting it. It is also designed for your wings to be easily pulled in and concealed, avoiding the issues the prisoner is currently having.

"Damn these clothes," she grumbles as she struggles to pull a shirt over her shoulders. She eventually abandons it for a larger size. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I am not removing my armour," you say.

"Are you really that afraid I'll stab you in the back when you aren't paying attention?" The prisoner puts her hands on her hips. "I already told you I need you alive and in fairly good health, and I'm not in the mood to play mind games while we’re still on this planet."

"The armour stays."

The prisoner sighs dramatically. "Then I suppose I'll dress to match."

Both of you outfitted in long coats, you look like bounty hunters or disreputable merchants, but at least you don't look like off-worlders. There's still the matter of how to get into the spaceport itself when the guards at the entrance are scanning identity cards, but the prisoner doesn't seem too concerned about it, striding purposefully back towards the entrance.

"Prisoner—" you begin, taking long strides to catch up.

"Ires," she says incredulously, stopping abruptly. "We're pretending to be in a relationship, remember? And I don't think anyone will buy 'prisoner' being one of your cute pet names for me. Try to at least _pretend_ to be a person."

"It was a clever ruse to avoid suspicion from the response team, but I see no purpose now in continuing to maintain the façade. The guards may in fact have been alerted to an escaped off-world couple."

"Well, we don’t look like off-worlders now, and this cover will be more useful for us than any other. Trust me."

You don’t trust her in the slightest, but as your only other option is to fight your way through the port, you have little choice.

"Ires," you say slowly. The name sits uncomfortably in your mouth. "How will this get us past the guards at the gate?"

"I'm a certified expert in getting past guards," Ires says with a scoff. "Just stand there, look pretty, and try to play along."

While you are momentarily distracted, Ires loops her arm through yours and pulls you close in a facsimile of affection. The ease with which she carries out this action throws you off balance for a second; none of the Federated Forces' rank and file would dare lay hands on a commander, and commanders do not touch each other with such casual familiarity. It is…not entirely unpleasant.

The weight of her arm on yours distracts you sufficiently that you barely register what she says to the guard who asks to see your identification. All you know is that it involves a lot of giggling, a flirtatious tone of voice, and a lot of pulling you and Ires closer and closer together. The warmth of her body burns through your clothes where she presses up against your side.

"That went great!" Ires says brightly. "They give you acting classes in commander school too?"

You come back to yourself to find the two of you now in the port, the gate getting further and further behind you.

Ires doesn't make a move to unlink her arm from yours and you follow her lead, feeling unusually out of your element here. Rarely are you called out to this sector, as the people do not feel amicable towards Qerusians, and the Empire is not yet at the stage that it wants to spend resources on taking control of the sector. Elsewhere in the galaxy, you need only flash your credentials or wings, or the insignia on your uniform speaks for you first, and every door opens before you.

"There, that one." You follow Ires' finger to a rundown Trident-class transport that looks more bound for the scrapyard than spaceflight. You doubt it can even get airborne without falling apart let alone into a hyperstream in one piece.

"Do you have a particular desire to experience death by hyperstream?" you ask. "If so, let me inform you that there are much more pleasant ways to go."

"Yes, because being mind-probed then executed is _so_ much more pleasant." Ires tugs you towards the ship by your linked arms.

The closer you get, the more the ship resembles a child's first attempt at building a model spaceship from memory. The ship's body has been patched in multiple places, with no attempt made to hide this fact, and just as little effort seems to have been put into patching the holes with the same material. You've little engineering knowledge, but to send so haphazard a vehicle into space seems downright irresponsible.

"Hi there!" Ires cheerily greets the unkempt man—a perfect match for the ship—who is standing in the cargo bay with a datapad in his hand. "Is this your ship?"

"Aye," the man says slowly. "What's it to you?"

"My partner and I were thinking of going on a little trip and we were going to get a ship just like your one," Ires says. "Only, the shipyard didn't have one on display that we could look at, and the virtual catalogues just aren't the same as the real thing, you know? Would we be able to have a look around? We'd pay you for your time, of course."

The man's wary expression slowly melts away at the mention of payment. "Payment up front."

"Very good." Ires tugs you into the cargo bay. Once the two of you are inside, she unhooks her arm from yours. "Darling, pay the man." She gives you a nudge in the back as she presses the button by the door to retract the cargo ramp.

"Hey, don't touch that," the man says as the doors begin to close.

In two steps, you close the distance between the man and yourself. Backed up against the crates, he has nowhere to go as you reach out and grab hold of his head between your hands, twisting sharply. His neck makes an audible snap before you let go, and he slides bonelessly to the ground.

"You didn't have to kill him," Ires says with a disapproving glare.

"I already have one prisoner to oversee, and he would have talked otherwise," you say. "I will put him in one of these crates and we can jettison it once we are in the hyperstream." If you even make it into the hyperstream. "Go to the bridge and check if the ship is ready for takeoff." You've chased Ires through enough systems to have confidence in her flying skills; with anything but a Valkyrie-class fighter, she might even be a better pilot than you.

"Right back to giving the orders again, I see." Still, Ires does as you say, disappearing through the door to the rest of the ship.

The crates are filled with small clay objects packed in shredded paper. There are no labels attached to them or the crates, nor is there any paperwork to be found in the cargo bay; the artifacts have most likely been smuggled, then. You take several pictures of the man's face and body before packing him into one of his own crates; if he is in the Federated Forces registry, that will be another one you can cross off.

You make your way towards the bridge, which on a ship this small, is simply on the opposite end of the corridor attached to the cargo bay, up a set of three steps that curve to the right. Ires is in the pilot's chair, the dashboard lit up before her.

"Are we ready to take off?" you ask as you sit in the co-pilot's chair.

"Technically, yes, but I'm not sure how far we'll be able to get." Ires points at the fuel gauge, which is dangerously close to empty. "Enough to get us into the hyperstream if I can aim the ship correctly, but getting out will be a challenge."

"There were fuel canisters in the cargo bay," you say.

"Full ones?"

"I didn't check."

Ires stares at you until you stand up. Perhaps you should have left just one cuff on; she's getting far too comfortable with telling you what to do.

Of the eight fuel canisters in the cargo bay, only two are full. You carry them over to the receptacle in the wall marked FUEL and empty them inside, then return to the cargo bay.

"How are the fuel levels now?" you ask.

"It increased by about a quarter of the tank. Still not great, but enough to get out of this sector, I think."

"When can we take off?"

"Whenever I finish coming up with a story to tell the traffic controllers."

"No need." You tune the radio receiver to listen in on the channel the traffic controllers are using. "Take us to the spire."

The spire is a huge vertical structure in the centre of the spaceport that propels smaller ships into the atmosphere to assist them with leaving the planet. Most large cities with a spaceport will have one to encourage smaller trading ships and tourists with personal ships to land.

On the radio, you hear one of the traffic controllers tell a Javelin-class ship to proceed to lane seven for takeoff. It is similar in size to the Trident, which means this ship should be able to use the same lane.

"Over there." You guide Ires towards the launch pad the Javelin is slowly making its way towards, and she pushes the throttle of the Trident up to beat the Javelin there, blowing through several lane dividers on the way and prompting a flurry of alarmed exclamations from air traffic control.

Once the Trident is on the launch pad, you briefly alight from the ship to manually close the gate behind you and use your disruptor on the launch pad console to ensure the launch commands can't be remotely overridden. When you rejoin Ires on the bridge, the launch pad is already vibrating with stored energy.

You and Ires quickly fasten the harnesses in the chairs as the lane markers begin to light up. The wall of the spire curves sharply upwards in front of you, quickly straightening into a vertical surface that seems impossible to ascend. But then the lane markers turn green and the launch pad begins to move, picking up speed so quickly that you and Ires are flattened against the backs of the chairs almost immediately.

The lane markers blur into a single streak of green light and the spaceport similarly dissolves into a hazy blob of colours before disappearing from view altogether as the ship travels up the spire. At the very top, the ship separates from the takeoff pad, and Ires fires up the ship's engines to ride the momentum generated by the spire through the planet's atmosphere.

Once the ship reaches the exosphere, you switch the dashboard view to locate the nearby hyperstreams. Not far from Catala is the Layetian Stream, which runs from the Ganash System to the Cornell Nebula, but to get back to Qerus, one must enter the Peleia Stream, which _Asperity_ had been traversing when she had encountered trouble. The lack of other escape pods on Catala leads you to wonder if all hands had been lost with the ship, or if something about the location of the escape pod on the ship had led to your emerging here.

"There she is." Ires turns the ship towards the turbulent line of blue dancing across the corner of the screen, wider and darker than the steadier Layetian Stream. With Peleia spanning so much of the galaxy, it is impressive that it's as stable here as it is without supporting infrastructure.

"Ensure the angle of incidence is no greater than—"

"I know how to fly," Ires snaps. "Don't distract me."

At too steep an angle, hyperstreams are capable of effortlessly tearing even the largest destroyers to shreds. Too shallow, and fuel is unnecessarily wasted trying to ease the ship into the stream. And your fuel is currently at a premium.

The ship begins to vibrate in a way uncomfortably similar to how _Asperity_ had before she had broken to pieces. You are unsure if this ship has an escape pod—you can see nothing on the dashboard that would indicate as such—so if Ires fails to enter the stream correctly, this will be the end for the two of you.

The bridge windows glow blue as they heat up from the friction of rubbing against the edge of the hyperstream, and you can hear the bolts that hold the wall panels together rattling in their sockets. Still, the ship holds, and you and Ires let out a collective sigh of relief when the steady hum of the hyperstream fills the bridge.

There are two beds on the ship, one set on top of the other into the wall of the corridor between the bridge and the cargo bay. Curtains can be drawn across the length of each bed to afford the barest privacy, and there are tall cupboards set into the opposite wall. The bottom bunk is in disarray; the ship's previous owner must have been sleeping there.

"Are you a top or a bottom?" Ires asks before chuckling to herself. When you don't reply, she says, "Fine, you can have the top. I hope there are some spare sheets around here; I'm not sleeping on that."

Past the beds, before the door in the end of the corridor that leads back to the cargo bay, is another door, beyond which is a tiny combined kitchen and dining area and another door leading to the bathroom. At the corner of the kitchen is another door, behind which are stairs leading up to the other side of the bridge. From what you can see, the cargo bay takes up almost half the habitable interior space; definitely a smuggler's ship.

"This is going to be awful, isn't it?" Ires says with a heavy sigh as she sits down at one of the stools at the counter. This ship is going so slowly it could be weeks before we reach Qerus."

"Weeks?" you ask. _Asperity_ had been an estimated week out from returning to Qerus.

"If we're lucky. And we'll be stuck together on this tiny ship the whole way."

"We will land and find another." The ship is still vibrating intensely even though it is entirely inside the hyperstream, and although it does not sound like any parts are falling off, you don't trust the ship to stay together for the entire journey to Qerus. "What are the food and water supplies like?"

There's enough water to last for several days, and enough packaged rations for several weeks.

"I don't think the guy knew how to cook," Ires says as she looks through the cupboards. "At least we won't have to. Though I have to say, I miss eating food that hasn’t come straight from a packet or can. I hope we can stay a little longer on the next planet."

"I am going to chart our course." You start back towards the bridge, but Ires calls after you.

"You're not going to leave my wings like this, are you?" She gestures at her back. "I haven't been able to let them out in _days_."

Without the cuffs, the pinion webbing is the only method you have of restraining her in some way, but though you are reluctant to take it off, all but the vilest criminals are afforded the right to freedom of movement—with varying definitions of 'freedom'—including their wings.

You release the webbing that holds her wings pinned against her back, and she rolls her shoulders in relief as a burst of deep red interspersed with muted orange and speckled with bright yellow unfurls behind her. Sunset colours, you realise. It has been many years since you've stayed planetside long enough to see one of those.

The colour of one's wings are said to be an indicator of who they are as a person: warm colours like Ires' suggests a strong, vibrant personality, commonly found amongst the insurgents, though you have captured several of them bearing the muted blues and greens usually associated with scholars and caregivers. As far as you know, none but your fellow commanders have wings as uniformly black as yours.

Ires pauses mid-stretch, her neck bared and utterly vulnerable. "What about you? Aren't you going to let yours out? I can move over if you need more space."

"No," you say.

"Suit yourself." She shrugs and resumes her stretches.

It's not that your own wings don't need the stretch—you can feel them straining against the harness under your armour, and a persistent ache is starting to build between your shoulders and at the base of your neck. But although commanders are trained to make every use of their bodies, including their wings, in battle, and millions of people across the galaxy have likely already set eyes on your wings, it feels different up close. Not even on _Asperity_ , with other members of the Federated Forces but none of your fellow commanders, had you worn your wings out except in the confines of your private quarters and when visiting Ires in the brig, as set out in the interrogation manual.

You haven't closely examined anyone else's wings besides that of other commanders, but you know that commanders' wings are different, as are the commanders themselves. It is what sets you apart from the rest of the Qerusians and gives you the power to hold authority over them.

You stow the webbing into one of your pockets before continuing to the bridge as you had intended. Once there, you seat yourself in the pilot's chair and begin to familiarise yourself with the controls; allowing Ires to fly had only been a temporary measure, of course, and the closer the two of you get to Qerus, the more likely she will be to try to run. If you can find some way to lock her out of the controls, that will cut off one avenue of escape.

You are looking through the ship's star maps when a violent shudder nearly tips you out of your chair. You look at the screens on the console, searching for some kind of warning message, but nothing seems out of the ordinary.

"What was that?" You hadn't heard Ires enter the bridge, but she is somehow leaning on the back of your chair, her wings draped over the sides and brushing against your upper arms.

"Sit down," you say through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to move away.

Ires lingers for a few seconds longer before sitting in the co-pilot's chair, leaving her wings hanging down the sides. The ends are trailing along the floor, but it doesn't seem to bother her.

"Did you check the—" she begins, only to be interrupted by another jolt that throws both of you into the consoles.

You strap yourself into the chair once you recover, and run the diagnostic scan, but still, nothing comes up.

"The only thing wrong here is that this ship is a piece of shit," you say.

"Stop complaining, it was the only one we could get on such short notice." Ires is not disagreeing with you, though.

"It is not flying straight." The ship's route is being charted on the navigation screen, and it's slowly veering towards the edge of the hyperstream. You steer it back towards the centre, and the turbulence eases.

"Don't tell me we're going to have to babysit the ship the whole way," Ires says in a flat tone.

You let go of the yoke, but the misalignment of the ship's wings isn't so severe that the ship going off course is so obvious in such a short amount of time.

You remain in the pilot's chair to see how long it takes, and Ires mirrors you in the co-pilot's chair.

After about fifteen minutes, there is a noticeable deviation from the radial point of the hyperstream, but you allow the ship to continue on its course until another fifteen minutes later, when the turbulence begins to pick up. You guide the ship back into the main body of the hyperstream lest it come apart from the vibrations.

Ires bangs her head against the back of the chair in frustration.

"We will have to take shifts," you say.

"What's the closest inhabited system?" Ires brings up the star chart. "Basilia," she says with a heavy sigh.

Another anti-Qerusian system. Most systems in this sector are.

"We have no choice," you say. "We will run out of water before we reach the next system." The next system being Hatol, a more neutral party in inter-system relations that has allowed small numbers of Qerusian civilians to reside on their main planet Xalar.

"What are the chances that word will have reached Basilia from Catala about off-worlders stealing a ship?"

"As these systems are not a part of the Qerusian intra-galactic communications network, they rely on slower-than-light-speed radio signals for the most part, and for urgent messages, a courier sent via hyperstream."

"An expensive option. A couple of off-worlders might not be worth the trouble."

"We will see once we arrive in Basilia."

Since you are already in the pilot's chair, you remain seated to take the first watch at the controls. Ires stands up, makes to leave, then sits back down again.

"So, what can I call you?" she asks.

"You may address me as Commander." Which she has been doing since the two of you had met.

"You can't be serious. What do you call each other?"

"Commander. Or our full designations if in the presence of multiple commanders."

"And your full designation is…?"

You had introduced yourself to Ires using it when you'd first met face to face, but it is quite lengthy, and Ires had not seemed to be paying attention at the time. "I am Commander Rho-Almaaz-Auriga of Interon, Qerus." When amongst commanders from the same sector, one can also forgo that portion of their designation after initial introductions, but Ires is not a commander.

"We don’t have time for all that," she says after a few seconds. "I'll just call you Rho."

"You will address me as Commander."

"Will I?" Ires rests her elbow on the console and props her head up with her hand. "A moment ago, it was 'may'. What's changed since then?"

"Very well. You may address me as you will. I may not answer." You turn away from her, making it clear that the conversation is over.

"We'll see about that."

-

Your arrival in Basilia goes largely unnoticed by the local authorities. It is your shift in the bridge when you arrive in the system, though Ires joins you when you start steering the ship out of the hyperstream.

"Think we could get some repairs done to the ship while we're picking up supplies?" she asks, grimacing at the high-pitched whine that is accompanying the violent shudders of the entire ship.

"With what currency?" you reply. Your monetary situation has not changed since Catala, and Basilia does not use credits either.

"With whatever we can get for the stuff in the cargo bay." She jerks her thumb over her shoulder.

"We are more likely to be arrested for dealing in stolen goods."

"I'll find a way, don't you worry."

Ires' fast talking has worked in your favour several times already, so you acquiesce to her leaving the ship on her own once you land on the planet; there have been no reports of insurgent activity in the system, and any message Ires might try to send to her associates will not be reaching them any time soon.

While Ires is away, you take advantage of this rare moment of solitude to stretch your wings. The only place large enough to do that is the cargo bay, and even then, your wing tips can touch the opposite corners with little effort. You pull your left wing in a little so you can move over and give your right wing enough room to stretch out completely, relishing in the way it pulls at your shoulder and back muscles, and at the feel of air passing through your stifled feathers. It is not the same as feeling the wind rush over your wings as you circle over a battlefield waiting for the right moment to dive in, but it is better than nothing.

You do the same with your left wing, then move back into the centre of the cargo bay and stretch both wings out from each other in increasing increments, adjusting their height and angle to go through their full range of motion.

"Oh my _god_."

Ires' awed voice startles you—you hadn't heard the cargo bay door open; sloppy—and your wings flare out even wider, smacking against the walls of the ship. You pull them in tight against your back and glare at her.

"You are supposed to be buying supplies," you snap.

"Market's closed." Ires is still staring at the space your wings had just occupied. "They close up around midday here apparently, on account of the sun."

"They should invest in better solar protection." You stalk back to your bunk to get some sleep, making sure that your wings are tucked tight against your back.

You can tell that Ires wants to talk, most likely about your wings if the way she keeps sneaking not-quite-covert glances at your back is any indication. You don’t understand the sudden fascination when she has seen your wings before, both in battle and when you visited her for interrogation aboard the _Asperity_. You staunchly refuse to meet her questioning gazes, and make pains to stay as far away from her as is conceivable on the tiny ship.

On the second day after leaving Basilia, when you go up to the bridge for the start of your watch, you find a long black feather sitting on the console in front of the co-pilot's chair.

"Where did you get that?" you demand.

"You dropped it in the cargo bay." Ires picks up the feather and runs her fingers down the vanes. A corresponding shiver runs through your wings even though the feather is no longer attached. "It's really not dyed, is it? Not this one, at least." Ires turns the chair around and stares at you, rolling the shaft of the feather between her fingers. "What _are_ you?"

The question doesn't merit an answer, really, but the words leave your mouth anyway. "I am Commander Rho-Almaaz-Auriga of Interon, Qerus, of the Corsolan Federated Forces."

"And nothing more?" Ires raises an eyebrow.

"It is all I need to be."

"If you say so." For the first time, Ires seems disquieted.

You leave her on the bridge even though it's supposed to be your turn to take watch, and she doesn't argue.

Black feathers are supposed to be an indication of some deficit of character, whether it be someone with ungracious thoughts or an early warning sign of a budding criminal. Feather colours aren't an exact science, but the stereotypes are so ingrained into society that even commanders are trained to more closely scrutinise individuals with large patches of black in their wings.

You have never had cause to question your origins before—you are, and have always been, a loyal soldier of the Federated Forces--but for some reason, Ires' words give you pause.

What _are_ you?

You sequester yourself in the cargo bay with your back against the door, the only way you are guaranteed a modicum of privacy on the tiny ship. You free one wing and bring it close around yourself, running your fingers against the scruffy patch where new feathers are still growing in after the battle on Grilia. When they do, they will be as dark as starless skies, same as they have always been. Ires wears her wings proudly despite the lack of space to hold them up properly, and you picture her brilliant reds and bright yellows against the black of your own. What deficit of character do _you_ have?

After the confrontation on the bridge, friction continues building between the two of you in a way it had not before, eventually culminating in a heated argument in the cargo bay after several days of simmering tension. Later, you won't even remember what had sparked the argument when it is so completely overshadowed by Ires managing to knock you to the ground and straddling your hips before pressing her lips to yours.

You freeze, too shocked by the contact to fight back. As you regain awareness of your body, you find you _don't_ want to fight back, and you remain still as you allow Ires' lips and tongue to roam wherever they wish.

"A bit like kissing a wall, but I expected as much," she says upon pulling away.

"Why did you do that?" you ask. A low growl slips into your voice, but rather than scaring Ires—not that she has ever seemed to fear you in the way most people do—it seems to make her smile.

"You liked it too, did you?" she says. "I'll have to give you some lessons if we're going to be doing it more often, though. You commanders don't see much action, huh?"

Commanders see nothing _but_ action, far too valuable a commodity to be kept in an office doing paperwork. You open your mouth to tell Ires this, only for her to seal her lips over yours again, swallowing whatever you had been about to say.

She doesn't linger as long this time, moving from your mouth to your jaw, leaving spots of tingling sensation where her lips touch your skin.

"Show me your wings," she murmurs, her lips brushing the outer edge of your ear and sending shivers up and down your spine.

You arch your back, and almost unconsciously, your wings unfurl behind you and spread out across the cargo bay floor. You can feel the cold of the metal flooring seeping into the roots of your feathers, but it's nothing compared to the chill that Ires' fingers leave behind as they gently stroke the nearest of your flight feathers. Then warmth bursts forth from those same places, a confusing assault on your senses that has you turning your head to see if Ires holds some device, but she remains empty-handed.

"Sensitive, aren't you?" Ires says with a breathy chuckle. "Has anyone ever touched you like this?"

Annoyed by the hint of smugness you detect in her voice, you growl and throw your leg over her hip, rolling her over so that not only are you the one leaning over her now, but your wings encircle the two of you so entirely that it almost seems as if the cargo bay has suddenly been plunged into darkness. What little light comes through reflects off Ires' eyes, giving them a predatory glint even though she's now completely at your mercy.

Ires doesn't bother with her hands now, just brings her wings up to meet yours, caressing them from the inside. You almost lose yourself at the sudden onslaught of sensation in places none save yourself has ever touched in such a way, but your wings instinctively jerk away, flooding the two of you with light once more and reminding you where you are.

"Come closer," Ires murmurs, beckoning you down with a finger as she lays her wings back on the floor.

Though her touch still lingers, a more pressing need to follow the orders given to you by the Directorate looms in the back of your mind, commanding you to cease this at once and restrain the prisoner as dictated in the field manual you have memorised better than the shape of your own wings.

"Rho," Ires says, her voice harder now. "Stop thinking so hard. This doesn't make us friends or allies any more than stealing a ship together did. We're just two people having fun. Have you ever done that before? Done something just for fun?"

She tugs you down with a hand in the front of your shirt, and presses her lips to the underside of your jaw. You gasp breathlessly as what feels like an electric shock runs through your bones, and you feel yourself tilting your head back to expose more of your neck to Ires. Your trainers would see you sent to reconditioning if they saw such an action, but Ires only makes her way downwards, her lips and tongue leaving wet spots of heat down your neck.

When she pulls back, her lips are red and glistening. Something within you drives you to lean down and press your lips to hers. You don't know what you are doing, or why, but Ires encourages the act with hands on either side of your head to guide you, and time melts away as the world narrows to include just the two of you.

Eventually, one of Ires' hands tugs on your shirt to pull it out of your trousers, then you feel her cool fingers running over directly over the skin of your stomach. Logically, you know that this is something people do with one another, but until now, you've never understood the appeal. Every touch of Ires' sends shivers of pleasure through your body; how does anyone get anything done knowing this could be waiting for them in the hands of the right partner?

You copy what Ires does and are rewarded with a deep moan that seems to reverberate in the back of your own throat. When she moves her hands lower, so do you, undoing buttons and divesting each other of clothing. Ires' fingers slide down between your legs and rub at the exposed flesh there in a way that has your vision blurring and your muscles growing weak in the most unbelieveably pleasurable way.

"That's it," Ires murmurs soothingly into your ear. "I've got you. You can let go."

You surrender to her touch.

When you wake up, Ires is gone. There's something soft beneath your head, though: your pillow, which means not only had she managed to leave the cargo bay and come back without you noticing, but she also would have had to lift your head to place the pillow underneath. The thought makes you feel oddly uncomfortable in a way you haven't been in all the time you've spent with Ires. Even odder is the sensation of your wings being out in the open, still draped across the cargo bay where you'd left them. You pull them in now, more for convenience than out of a real desire to hide them from Ires, and the motion drags a multitude of objects across the cargo bay. It is already in disarray, so you leave it as it is and make your way to the bathroom.

You spend a long while staring at your image in the mirror. It is not something you ever do save to ensure you are groomed to Federated Forces standards, but now, you stand, and you search for…something. You are not entirely sure what, but you stare into the eyes of your reflection, and an empty darkness stares back. For some reason, this unsettles you more than waking up in the cargo bay had.

"Rho!" Ires' bellow cuts through your thoughts. "It's your turn on the bridge!"

A small smile appears on her face when you join her on the bridge.

"Sleep well?" she asks.

There is no reason you need to answer. "Six more days until we reach Axeris," you say, looking at the map. The Axeris System marks the edge of Empire space and the possibility of this mission finally coming to a close.

"Back to business already?" Ires stares at you like she wants to make conversation, but you steadfastly ignore her—she had been the one to mention that your tryst in the cargo bay makes you neither allies nor friends—and she eventually leaves.

She does not stay away long, however. Towards the end of your watch, she returns, dressed in not very much at all.

"Six more days, you said?" she says with a smirk before straddling your hips and sitting in your lap. She wraps her wings around you, and you hold yourself perfectly still to suppress the shudder of anticipation that wants to run through your body. "I can work with that."

-

The Peleia Stream is unstable around Axeris, which does not contain enough resources to make it worth the Empire's while to stabilise the stream here. But to ride the stream to the next system would make your supplies tight enough that both you and Ires agree to stop in Axeris despite neither of you being particularly pleased about it.

The discussion you have about it is the first time in six days the two of you really talk, the rest of your time occupied by mapping each other’s bodies with your hands and mouths. As Axeris looms, tension once again builds between you, although it feels different now than before Ires had accosted you in the cargo bay.

The line between captor and prisoner had begun to blur, and you will be relieved to see it return to a clear division. At least, that is what you try to convince yourself.

Axeris' only inhabited planet is Meron, a desolate wasteland that doesn't even have the redeeming feature of containing exploitable mineral deposits. The first colony that had been set up here has only become self-sustaining in the last decade, but even then, the system isn't considered significant enough to hold more than a token force of Federated Forces soldiers. You don't even know if the encampment here will have a direct line of communication with the command station in Qerus.

One thing is for certain, though: you absolutely cannot allow Ires the chance to get in contact with the insurgents.

You present her with two options, and both are met with ferocious glares: she either stays on the ship, or accompanies you as your prisoner.

"After everything we've been through together, really?" Ires puts her hands on her hips.

"We were forced to work together because we had no other choice," you say. "Now, we are back in Qerusian territory, and I am a commander, and you are an insurgent. Consider yourself fortunate that I am offering you the choice to remain on the ship rather than be paraded through the colony in chains."

In actuality, it is easier to secure the ship than it is to find suitable restraints, and the Empire's hold on this system is weak enough that you cannot be sure how many of the colonists will attempt to oppose or otherwise delay you when your intentions become clear.

Ires scoffs and makes to push past you for the cargo bay doors, but you extend one wing with a snap to block her path. She narrows her eyes at the wall of black feathers blocking her path but does not try to proceed further. She must know you are capable of throwing her across the cargo bay with a sweep of your wing.

"So this is how we're playing it?" she asks coolly.

"It is. Choose, or I will choose for you."

"Fine." Ires throws her hands up and turns around. "But you'd better bring me something nice."

You remove the igniter from the bridge so the ship's electrical systems won't be able to turn on, and Ires won't be able to use the communications system or open any external doors. You also disable the manual override for the doors and lock them from the outside. It might get uncomfortable inside without the life support system working, but there is more than enough oxygen, and the temperature won't climb much in the time you expect to be gone.

The Federated Forces compound on Meron is located on the outskirts of the colony and consists of an office, barracks, a garage, and an armoury. It looks barely capable of sustaining a hundred soldiers, not nearly enough to quell rebellion in the colony if the insurgents should set their sights here. But it is not your place to question the decisions of the Directorate.

You approach the compound with your wings on display, and barely display your credentials to the guard in the gatehouse before the young man is opening the gate. He openly stares after you as you enter the compound, and only seems to remember to inform his superiors of your arrival over the radio after you are already halfway to the office building.

"Commander!" The compound's captain mobilises quickly, at least. "Apologies for not being at the gate to welcome you, but I was not informed of your arrival."

A commander arriving at such a small outpost as this would usually warrant the base troops standing muster, but such formalities are currently of little concern to you.

"I am not here to inspect you or your soldiers." You let your gaze sweep past the captain. "I need to use your equipment to report in to Qerus Command."

"Of course!" the captain readily agrees without second thought. "Through here, Commander."

You receive orders to stay put on Meron until an extraction team arrives to escort you and Ires to Qerus. It puts your mind at ease to know that you will no longer have to be in close proximity to each other, and that you will have some privacy with which to work through the conflicting feelings that plague you whenever she crosses your thoughts.

Ires' fixation on your wings makes you take more notice of the wings of the colonists you pass as you return to the ship; almost everyone on Meron is a native Qerusian, so there is a dizzying array of wings in every shape and colour for you to observe. Before, you would have cut through a crowd without more than a cursory inspection of faces to check them against the fugitive registers, but now you cannot help but compare the wings of every passer-by to yours. There are truly no wings like yours here, none of such immense size and power, and few with streaks or patches of pure black. You pull your wings in a little closer.

Ires is on the bridge when you return to the ship, spinning the captain's chair from side to side. "Well?" she asks, turning the chair around. "Do we have a date for my imminent execution?"

"There will be no execution," you say. "I will ensure you receive a fair trial."

"And how are you going to do that? You gonna hold my hand the whole way?"

"I will see to it." You aren't sure yourself if the Directorate will listen to your recommendations for what should be done with the prisoner once you turn her over, but something compels you to at least try. Perhaps the nights of passion the two of you had shared has clouded your judgement; no specific rules exist for commanders, but the Federated Forces discourages couplings between soldiers in general, and you've never heard of a commander who has attached themselves to another in such a way.

You move Ires to a holding cell in the Federated Forces compound so the soldiers can keep watch over her instead, but even then, you don't go far; these backwater troops don't have the best training, and you don't trust them to be able to keep a close enough eye on Ires that she won't be able to worm her way out of her cell.

The extraction team arrives in two days, headed by Commander Zeta-Acamar-Eridanus of Ventir, Qerus. The commander's rank outstrips yours by a considerable number of grades, enough that you must defer to them even though the two of you hail from differing regiments. It strikes you as odd that such a high-ranking commander—of the Eridanus regiment, no less—would be sent for such a simple task, but it is not your place to question the orders of the Directorate.

"Report," the commander says curtly.

It is not common protocol to report to a commander from another regiment, regardless of rank, without prior instruction from the Directorate or a higher-ranking commander from the same regiment. You tell the commander as much, but they only catch your eye in a hard stare.

"Report," they say again.

It might not be common protocol, but there are no rules against reporting to another commander, so in the interest of not starting conflict, you begin with Ires' capture on Grilia, detailing the destruction of _Asperity_ and glossing over what happened in the weeks you spent with Ires on the Trident.

"Come," Commander Zeta-Acamar-Eridanus says once you finish your report. "My ship has been refuelled and is ready to go."

"And the prisoner?"

"Will join us on board shortly."

The Federated Forces light cruiser is parked behind the compound, powerful enough that it can take off and land anywhere, and fast enough to reach Qerus in two days. The end of your mission is finally in sight.

You and the commander are almost at the loading ramp when the sharp whistle of falling bombs cuts through the air. Your wings are out and angling for takeoff in an instant, but the bombs are quicker, and the cruiser explodes in a blinding flash of red, orange, and yellow. The colour of Ires' wings; the thought crosses your mind as the force of the blast throws you back towards the compound. She must have found a way to get a message to her fellow insurgents after all.

The compound is also under attack from the same stealth bombers that had targeted the cruiser, and from a ground force that is brought to the compound by shuttle once the bombers have taken care of the anti-aircraft defences. You really ought to join in the defence of the compound—there is a weapon from a fallen soldier within reach that you can use—but your limbs feel impossibly heavy and your vision is blurring, and despite how hard you fight it, you can't keep your eyes from falling shut.

-

The pain in your head is immense, but you heave yourself to your hands and knees anyway, only to be greeted by cries of alarm and a sharp jolt of electricity that sparks between your shoulder blades. Your arms and legs give out, and you go crashing to the stone floor.

"You didn’t have to do that," says a familiar voice. "They weren’t about to do anything."

"Has your time in their presence addled your brain?" An unfamiliar voice asks. "This is a commander we’ve got on our hands."

"And I’m telling you to let me talk to them. I’m sure I can get them to--"

"Go home, Ires. We’ll take care of things from here."

The sound of a door sliding shut, then receding footsteps.

You lie on the floor while your body trembles with the aftermath of the electric shock, the pounding in your head now having spread down your neck to intermingle with the sharp pain between your shoulders. Ires has managed to entrap you—that much is clear. There will be time to self-examine your failures once you are out of the insurgents’ grasp.

You gradually become aware of thick bands of metal around your wrists, and your ankles too. Your limbs are still mostly unresponsive, but you manage to crane your neck to examine the band around one of your wrists: a specialised heavy-duty Federated Forces cuff, used for prisoners who can’t be trusted to be restrained by usual means. Each cuff contains electromagnets for quickly and easily attaching them to each other, and is capable of delivering a strong enough electric shock to incapacitate the prisoner. You have only heard of them, never seen one in person, which not only begs the question of how the insurgents managed to acquire four, and how you are supposed to get out of them.

You will need your strength, that much is certain, so you don't make a futile attempt to get up now, and take a few deep, slow breaths instead to put yourself into a meditative trance that will speed up the healing process. If you concentrate hard enough, it almost seems like you can feel your frayed nerves knitting back together.

Your wings are draped along the floor, bent at odd angles as there is not enough room in the cell for them to fully extend. You try to draw them in to a more comfortable position, but they are not immune to the effects of electrocution and are just as reluctant to respond as the rest of your limbs are.

By the time you manage to pull yourself up to your hands and knees, someone has come back down to the cells, and it sounds like they've stopped in front of your cell, but you don't have any strength left to lift your head to check.

"I didn't want it to be like this." It is Ires.

"It was obvious from the beginning that we had conflicting objectives," you manage to say.

"No, I mean when I brought you here, I didn't expect they would…do this." Ires comes closer; you can now see the tips of her boots on the edge of your field of vision.

"And what of it? Are you here now to gloat?"

"No, I'm…I'm going to make this right. This isn't how we do things." Ires' boots leave, followed by her receding footsteps.

You manage to haul yourself up into a sitting position and slump into the corner of your cell, but that is as much as you are capable of without further sustenance to fuel a quicker recovery. But at least from this position, you have more warning and can see whoever is approaching the cell.

The insurgents bring you just enough food and water to keep you alive, and seem to take great pleasure in activating the shock function of the cuffs when they do so, sometimes all four at once, and sometimes one after another. It keeps you weak enough that you have to put aside thoughts of escaping on your own and instead wait for the Directorate to send someone to retrieve you.

It does not take them long, if the tremors that rock the building one day are any indication. What you don't expect is for Ires to come back.

"I have a plan," she says, leaning in close to the bars of your cell. "I'm going to get you out of here."

You stare at her. In no way could you have predicted a development like this. "Why?"

"Because we've gotten our hands on blueprints for one of the Directorate's memory extraction devices and the others want to build it and test it on you, then toss out whatever's left of you once they're done. But I've got a better idea: believe it or not, you're not the first commander to cross our sights, and we managed to get the last one to see that there's more to life than just the Federated Forces."

"You lie." The words escape your mouth of their own accord.

"How do you think we've managed to stay afloat all these years? You commanders are good at what you do, I'll give you that, but a little bit of insight into how you work goes a long way."

Ires' comments do not warrant a response; whether she is telling the truth or not, you will report this to the Directorate and let them handle it.

Instead of leaving, Ires remains in front of your cell for several minutes. "They were going to kill you," she eventually blurts out. "Well, not exactly, but you were going to be taken for reconditioning." She thrusts a piece of paper through the bars at you. "This was on the body of that other commander."

You don't take the paper. "It is only to be expected."

Commanders are a precious commodity in the Federated Forces, and if there is a risk they might have been compromised by the enemy and are no longer completely loyal, protocol dictates they be sent to reconditioning.

Ires grips the bars. "You know what it means, don't you? You won't be _you_ anymore. You won't remember the time we spent together…what we did."

"It is none of your concern." And redundant, now that you are to meet your end at the hands of the insurgents.

"It _so_ is my concern." Ires makes an attempt to shake the bars, but they are sturdy enough that they don't move. "Listen to me!" She slams her hands against the bars. "Take this from someone who’s looked into your eyes, really looked, and saw…something: you can be so much more than this, and I know it's possible, because it's been done before."

You don't respond, but as you have become accustomed to, Ires continues the conversation on her own.

"The way I see it, if the Federated Forces breaks through, they'll take you back to Qerus for reconditioning. If we manage to hold out, my friends will kill you. Either way, you lose. But you don’t _have_ to."

"You would remove yourself from the fight to help an enemy escape?" You can hear the sounds of battle now; the fighting will soon draw closer.

"I've already been benched." Ires laughs humourlessly. "Apparently, they don't trust me. Just like your people don't trust you. Once again, we find ourselves in the same boat."

"Not at all." When _Asperity_ had been falling apart, it had been your duty to see Ires off the ship to allow for the completion of your mission. What she proposes now is for both of you to turn your backs on those you have pledged your loyalty to.

"It's an easy question, Rho: do you want to live?"

Ires captures your eyes wiforces you to give careful consideration to her question. The first answer that comes to your mind is yes, but although self-preservation is a strong instinct, stronger still is your sense of duty to the Federated Forces that had been instilled into your very being since the day you were created.

"Answer me!" Ires prompts, sounding increasingly desperate. "Do you want to live? _Really_ live?"

You look at her, the woman who has always met your gaze instead of cowering from it, who dared to lay her hands on the Empire's mightiest weapon, and did it over and over again.

"Yes," you say to her. You feel as if you have never known what it means to feel alive until she had held you in her hands and not only taken you apart but also put you back together in a way you hadn't thought possible before. "I want to live."

Ires unlocks the door and slides a thin card into the barely-visible slot in each cuff which then falls open.

"Where—" you begin.

"Talk later." Ires pulls one of your arms over her shoulders and wraps a wing around your waist, bodily dragging you out of the cell until you manage to get your feet under yourself and take some of your weight off her. You are not sure if you can stand up on your own, but she doesn’t make any move to let go.

Ires is breathing hard when the two of you stop at the top of a flight of stairs descending into darkness, but she only holds on to you tighter even though it would be magnitudes easier for her to escape alone. You can feel the brush of her feathers against yours as they move in time with her laboured breaths, and you catch a flash of bright red, orange, and yellow out of the corner of your eye.

"We're not far from the sea, and there's a tunnel beneath us that'll take us out to the cliff face," she says. "Do you think you can fly?"

With her by your side, you feel as if you can do anything.


End file.
